


Dark Blue

by baekyuu



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pianist, Angst, Blind Character, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baekyuu/pseuds/baekyuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baekhyun's a blind pianist and Chanyeol wanted to be more than just his listener.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Blue

**Author's Note:**

> repost from aff. unbeta-ed.

The skies were dark blue that night.

You wouldn’t really notice it, because they look absolutely normal—the eyes, I mean. They’re the nicest shade of honey chocolate-brown, molten gold when his fingers are flying all over the keys, like he’s spewing up magic. Well, he really does spew magic, there’s something really supernatural about him, the way he plays it. One twinkling song starts and his fingers fly through the air and suddenly the next thing you know is that you’ve fallen asleep nose-deep in your cappuccino froth in a complete trance—but what you’ve also discovered is that you’ve missed the last bus home, and you absolutely fell in love with the beautiful pianist.

What was his name? Something with Byun and a food… Byun whatever the hell he was. The prettiest creature God had ever created. I don’t know. All I knew was that I came to this cool café and check it out—long tiring day, you know. Sometimes college students are zombies. Obviously I’m not one of those harkers who holds a pitchfork whilst they teach, but they really need to cut out partying and swap it with sleeping so that they don’t complain about how terrifyingly _tedious_ their education is. Hey, I’ve been a college student too, and I’ve made it out alive—so if I can, considering I used to fall asleep in class a lot back then—so do _you_.

I’m digressing here, let’s get back to the main topic. So, zero-eight-hundred in the evening, just finished up making lesson plans, though there’s still thirty minutes to wait for the bus, and it’s freezing, right? I walked down the blocks to see if I can pass time and save my ass from turning into eternal stone at the same time—this nice café caught my eye just a few streets away. It has really cool aesthetic, you know—oak-wood furnishings and plain bricks as walls, wooden planks for floorboards. Really good. I had thirty minutes, and it wouldn’t hurt to nip in a little while, right?

So, went to the counter. It’s one of those really good cafés that play jazz music real-time while you’re inside—the items were more expensive than what my shoes are worth, but why not? I treated myself nicely with a warm cup of cappuccino with a nice pattern of cinnamon on the top, and sat down as the last band just finished their song. Then there were claps and a guy enters the stage, holding a mike.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was _Orkest_ , with their piece ‘ _Holes_ ’! Definitely fits in with the atmosphere here, eh? Now, next up—a pretty boy—he’s ever-so popular amongst the regular-comers here ever since we’ve hired him—he even has his own fans! He can attract more girls than I can in ten years—kidding, kidding—but either old or new customers, you’ll definitely fall in love with him tonight with his piece. Please give a round of applause for _Byun Baekhyun_!”

Then there was this burst of people clapping madly, you know? Some people were really cheering—some of the girls were fawning over and swooning over the tables—not those girls with blaring red lipstick and busts too big for their shirts and high-heels—those sensible college girls, though their outfits look like pyjamas sometimes. Some of the jocks were really clapping enthusiastically and nodding their heads, turning to their friends to compliment whoever this performer was—even though they haven’t seen him yet. So I took a sip of my drink and let my eyes rest on the little platformer stage.

And I thought—hey, pretty, you know? A petite figure with definite, slim piano fingers with hair the same colour as the oak tables and a toothy smile like sunshine. Brownish-cream jumper with sleeves covering half his hands and a crisp collar shirt, brown shorts and brown cotton socks—if espresso was human, he probably would be the best fitting model for it.

He looks rather shy and nervous, but the smile reaches his eyes—though he was muttering numbers under his breath, counting his every step, his lips softly mouthing the words. Then there was this long, definite silence—where everyone looks at him as he walks towards the piano, brushing his fingers on the keys and feeling for the seat. He sits down gently and his hands reaches for the keys and tests out a few gentle notes—before he nods and the band starts playing.

He starts off with this soft, flawless tune—I was amazed, really. And the thing is, he doesn’t even look at the keys. He just stares straight ahead and smiles as he plays, his fingers flying to reach every single note; and everyone was watching him intently, even the baristas who were supposed to serve the coffees. A number of times I thought— _wait, you’re going to press the wrong keys_ —but he never did and always corrects his fingers to the appropriate position. His fingers soars through the harmony and I had my hands on my chin as I watched him, getting sleepy—not because it was boring—because it was simply so hypnotic and fascinating, and I feel really relaxed.

Then he presses down his final chords and the rest of the band quietens down—then there was this huge burst of applause, even louder than the last performing band’s. I snapped my eyes open and the next thing I know is that I’m on my feet cheering so loudly, clapping my hands even when they started to hurt. Whoever that pianist was visibly embarrassed and he stood up with a pleasant pink tinge on his cheeks, obviously really pleased—and he bows. Some of the girls even threw flowers at him, cheering the loudest. He chuckles and bows once more, before he takes his leave—counting his steps again and feeling for the end of the platform.

Yes, I missed the bus and had to walk five miles home. Yes, I came home late—my roommate was pissed, but it was a good cup of warm drink and one hell of a pretty pianist.

* * *

Well I didn’t _say_ that it was my only time coming, right?

After that, I just started to go regularly into that café after work. It was a nice treat after teaching zombies (I’m sorry, but you really are zombies…) and planning lesson after lesson. I’d buy some sort of caffeine and sit down just as the last band finishes, and he’ll appear—always in jumpers and cotton socks, bless. His entrances are always iconic—counting his steps, running his fingers down the white keys and feeling for the seat. He’d test out a few notes and flounce off into a new song, either with the band or solo by himself, and I’d always find myself closing my eyes and enjoying it all. Then he’d finish and I’d clap my hands loudly—maybe sometimes even louder than those girls, cheering him on. He’d flush with pride and closes his eyes halfway through, playing with his oversized sleeves, smiling shyly before he bows down, and his fringe flopping slightly. Sometimes he wears hairclips—white small puppies clipped on his hazel fringe. It looked rather cute, you know.

Then it was winter, and everybody was slightly busy so the café was emptier than usual—just a few people here and there, but the music was still there. The bands played longer that day. Then my favourite pianist comes on and plays a beautiful solo—people started to leave since it was far gone through midnight and it was past closing time and the staff started to clean up things—but he was still there, playing the tune to himself, humming softly sometimes. I just watched and watched until he finishes with a final note—I’d stand up and clap, even though I’m the only customer left there—but he’d always blush and smile.

“Thanks for coming.” He shyly says, before bowing—though one of his hairclip drops. He steps down the platform.

I couldn’t make sense of it—he didn’t pick the hairclip up, even though it fell right in front of his eyes and he had his eyes open. Being the only one there, I walked over to the stage and picked it up, tapping him gently on the shoulder.

“Oh—excuse me, you dropped your hairclip.”

He was startled for a while—he did a little jump on his feet and his legs jerked, but he relaxes. He turned around—and it was the first time I saw his face close-up. He really looked like a soft puppy; soft hazel hair and twinkling eyes, with a pair of soft lips that stretched into a beautiful smile and smooth cheeks. He was staring straight into my chest for five straight seconds before his head tilts up—but his eyes weren’t even focused, even though the lights are dim. It was as if his eyes were searching where my face was placed, and I was holding the hairclip right in front of him.

“O-Oh, really?” he squeaks slightly, and he runs his fingers through his fringe—and his face shifts into realisation as he felt one missing from his hair. His mouth falls to form into a small ‘oh!’ and he giggles, embarrassed.

“Didn’t feel that one falling—thank you.” He mumbles shyly, his lips pressing into a grin as he tucked a hair over his ear with his finger—though I noticed that his pinkie on that hand was missing, and it was just a tiny stump on his sleeve-covered hand. Though he pauses.

“Umm—sorry, I—“ he says sheepishly as he reaches his hand out for the hairclip, even though I held it right in front of him and I wasn’t even moving it. His fingers touches my elbow and he traces it all the way up to my own digits, before his thumb and index encloses on the hairclip.

“Aha! Here it is.” He giggles, taking it and putting in back on his fringe. “Thank you very much, stranger. I hope you come and see me again soon.”

“Well—as a matter of fact, I come here every weekday.” I said, smiling—though it was a white lie, since I came here every day to _specifically_ see him play his piano. Though he was staring straight into my chest as I talked to him, and I was getting a bit confused.

“Oh! Well, then—“ he beams. “Make sure you shout the loudest in the crowd so I know you’re there, stranger. And—many thanks for the hairclip.”  
“It’s no problem.”

He flashes me another grin before he turns around exactly 180 degrees, stepping down through the hallway of the café, mouthing numbers with every step.

Obviously I didn’t really make a fuss of it—but he was really, really pretty. He looks younger than me—probably… around his teens, or his very early twenties at the least? Though after seeing his eyes—honey chocolate slightly tinted with grey, I wondered if he had some sort of attention deficit or he forgotten his glasses, or forgot to put on his contact lenses. But as I passed my angry roommate, all I could think of was his soft voice and his melodic tunes—playing with only nine fingers, indeed! Maybe he really was a prodigy—he probably aces his music studies in school. He looked like a good kid—he didn’t look like one of those zombies dragging their heavy bags to lectures. But that was no regular music piece.

So I started to come in and visit him, even past closing time. For weeks, probably. I was the café’s regular night-visitor and they became used to me, sometimes even offering me free coffee.

“Seeing as you’re such a regular customer—I always recognise you when you walk in.”  
“What, because of my big ears?” I grinned at the staff. He laughs and shakes his head, before attacking another table with water and mop. I avert my eyes to the angelic pianist once more, being the one alone in that café, closing my eyes and sighing happily as I listened to him play the notes…

Then he’d finish—and, as always, I’d stand up and clap for him, showering down on him with honest compliments.

“Oh—thank you—is that you, Mr. Stranger?”  
“Sure am.” I smiled, still clapping.

He laughs and got off the stage, though he didn’t go to his usual direction where he usually exits. He jumps down the platform towards my direction though he was slightly off to the right, his hands spread out in front of him. When his hand accidentally swatted my cheek he let out a sheepish ‘whoops!’, scratching the nape of his neck.

“Sorry.” He laughs, before his fingers encloses on the seat next to mine and he sits down. I frowned before deciding to test out something—I raised my hand and made to jab at his face before I stopped mid-way near his face, but he didn’t even flinch. His eyes didn’t even notice it—he carried on talking normally as if nothing happened.

“It’s been a while since I socialised.” He giggles shyly, playing with his hair, curling a strand of hazel locks on his finger. “So, my hairclip-saviour. Let’s talk, eh? Hey Chen, get us a nice drink or something.”

The Chen guy looks up from cleaning the table and did a mock-salute before he saunters off.

Baekhyun looked like one of those shy types—timid and sheepish, but cute at the same time. He slightly slouches over the table and leans towards my figure and he has a hand under his chin with some sort of dreamy look in his eyes, and he’d play with his hair or fidget with his sleeves or bite his thumb. Sometimes he’d rock sideways and flash me one of those ‘ _I-like-you_ ’ kind of smile—which was honestly kind of flattering for me, since the smiles I often get are grimaces from zombies or a sarcastic grin from my prissy roommate.

Chen—even though his nametag was labelled ‘ _K. Jongdae_ ’ (was it a nickname?) came back a few seconds later with a cup of cappuccino for me and hot chocolate for the pianist—though Chen handed it directly straight into Baekhyun’s hands gently, looping his fingers on the mug for him even though Baekhyun could do it himself.

“What’s this?”  
“Hot chocolate.”  
“Not vinegar?” Baekhyun jokes, and Chen laughs, though I didn’t get what they meant at that time. I just leaned back and sipped my drink whilst Baekhyun childishly licks the froth off of his mug, grinning.

“Ah—Chen makes some killer hot chocolates.” He sighs. “So—you are…?”  
“Park Chanyeol.”  
“Byun Baekhyun. It’s nice to meet you.”

We shook hands, even though he slightly missed my palm by an inch (and I have these big-ass hands, see). We introduced ourselves for a while though it waned midnight—our hobbies and our professions.

I was really surprised when we exchanged our ages—we were both twenty-five, though he was a few months older than me—but he looks much, much younger as if he’s encased in eternal beauty, and he looks no more than eighteen! He looks proper trim and beautiful, rather shy and timid. He was a pianist, I was an art teacher. Chen joined us a few minutes later as he finished cleaning up, grabbing a seat just as Baekhyun ricocheted off into telling me his ambitions.

“Oh—I’d love to get into a proper private music school and perform properly in an orchestra—or as a solo pianist. It’d be my lifelong dream.” He sighs dreamily, playing with his sleeves. “But of course, they don’t admit nine-fingered blind-as-a-mole pianists into their elite schools, so I’m stuck here in the meanwhile. Still—it’s not bad.”

“I dunno why they haven’t accepted you—they haven’t even heard you play piano! And you’re such an ace, considering you compose those pieces yourself—without two eyes!” Jongdae chirps, banging his fist—but he grins all the same.

“What do you mean, ‘ _without two eyes_ ’?” I frowned. Though by this point I already knew—I just needed a confirmation.

“I’m blind.” Baekhyun smiles, and waves his hands in front of his own eyes before he fidgets with his sleeves again. He beams shyly. “Though I’m like this since I was born—so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything, right? And it saves me from seeing Jongdae’s dead-ugly face—“

“Yah! I am NOT ugly! I can attract more girls than you can when you play your sodding piano!” Jongdae exclaims, putting his arms around Baekhyun and grinding his knuckles into his head. Baekhyun squealed and tried to get away from him, spluttering and laughing, pushing off his friend back to his seat. They look like such great friends—probably knew each other since childhood, they looked like beef brothers together.

“But hey, beauty doesn’t count—it’s the inside that matters, right? But Jongdae is still dead-ugly on the inside.”  
“I swear, you little—“

I laughed as I watched them fight each other like a cat—though Baekhyun was blindly swatting the air. But I couldn’t be helped but be impressed—playing piano with nine fingers was one thing, but playing it without your eyesight was another thing altogether. I smiled as I watched them both bicker with each other in banter argument, before Jongdae popped up with my name.

“But really, Baekhyun—maybe you’ll change your mind once you see Chanyeol. He’s kinda hot. I’d fuck him if I was gay.”

At this, I’ve probably blew steam from both of my ears, and my face was probably a blaring red.

“Are _you_ gay, Chanyeol?”  
“Well—“ how the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been single for my ruddy 25 years of existence—my ears probably scared anyone off. “—I dunno. Maybe I swing both ways.”

“Then you two should probably date.” Jongdae cheers, slapping both of our backs. Baekhyun was immediately stuttering and I was probably as red as a tomato—but the sweet pianist would be a nice date, I suppose. I never thought of relationships that much—I was just an arts teacher! Though—he is cute, with his weeny hairclips and his little habits, playing with his hair every now and then… and he had a great character; living his life normally without two eyes. That was why he counted his steps! Because if he just walked here and there he’d fall—ah…

“J-Just because I date guys doesn’t mean one-and-one instantly makes boyfriends, Chen.” Baekhyun splutters—he looked adorable, swatting Jongdae with his sleeves before biting his lip.

“Never you mind! I’ll wait for the day I walk in to you two making out. Oh look, it’s one o’clock! Gotta go—“  
“B-But Chen, you said you were giving me a ride—“  
“What?! I thought you were walking home with your _boyfriend_ —my, would you look at the time! Got to go! Goooooodbyeeeeee—“

Jongdae roared with laughter as he sauntered off quickly, disappearing before Chanyeol could even blink. Baekhyun flushed into deep crimson as he chewed on his fingers, playing with his sleeves.

“Ah—well, I guess you really _do_ have to walk me home.” He said sheepishly. “ _Stupid_ Chen, setting me up on things…”

I watched him as he tucked a strand between his ear and giggled at me—maybe it was just the caffeine, or the blind pianist—but I felt an odd surge of affection towards him. Maybe finally my zombie students won’t tease me for being twenty-five and single, even if it’s not a great woman with killer curves.

“Well—sure, I’ll walk you home.” I said, not even hesitation to accept the offer. He perked up towards my voice.  
“Ahh, really? But it’s too much trouble, and I don’t live far from here—“  
“No really, it’s okay.”

He finished his hot chocolate, though we both laughed as I pointed out his new white froth-moustache. I cleared up for both of us and Baekhyun slowly felt his way outside, his hands reaching out for the door handles, his fingers tightening on the metal before he opened the door, bowing.

“Ladies first.”

I snorted, but I went first. He followed after me, though after that he looked confused.

“Here—loop your arm around my elbow.” I said—though somehow it ended up with us twining our fingers together, and there’s an empty space where his pinkie was supposed to be. His hand was warm—and his fingers comfortably fit with my own.

“Your hands are big, aren’t they?” he says softly, raising up my other arm. I felt his fingers trace mine and he rested his palm at the back of my hand—and he smiles, even though he was staring at my chest. “If your hands are big—then you must be… up…”

He raises his head up gently, and stopped at the precise time so that his empty eyes stared into mine—even if he saw nothing at all. He gingerly giggles and swung our held hands, nudging my shoulder—“Well, it’s just a six roads down the left of the café. Number fourteen.”

My face was red and I was all hot under my collar, but I held his hand all the way through the walk, navigating him away from cracks and holes of the roads. I watched him as he walked—he took eager but very careful steps, putting his foot out forwards before putting it down flat on the ground. The roads were empty and we were walking hand-in-hand under the midnight blue, accompanied by our constantly shuffling feet and Baekhyun's soft humming.

“You can sing too, hunh?” I smiled. His face flushed warmly.

“N-No, not really.” He shook his head, his fringe swinging around wildly. “But—But I bet you can sing, Chanyeol. Maybe you’d sing while I play the piano.”  
“ _Sing_! I’m just an art teacher!”  
“Most artists are well-composed in the arts of music too, you know.” He bit his bottom lip and smiled, twirling a strand of hair into his finger as his eyes swivelled around its sockets, as if trying to find some sort of image in the darkness he was always enveloped within.

He pressed his lips and tutted between his teeth, sighing. “What a shame. I wouldn’t be able to see any of your artworks—I bet they’re beautiful.”  
“I don’t really quite judge a piece of art by how it looks, Baekhyun.” And there was this idiot smile creeping up my face. “It’s the meaning that counts—right, eh?”

We turned down the road, though we seemed to have slowed down our walk—either it was just me, or Baekhyun, or both of us—we didn’t want to let go of our hands yet, or retire for the night. Not now. Just not now—walk slower, so we could spend more time with each other, even if it’s just a few more minutes. A few more seconds. His fingers tightened against mine and he huddled closer as we walked—then it was stopping in front of house number fourteen, the garden covered in orchid pots and flowers.

It looked beautiful—but what’s the point when you can’t even see them?

I carefully steered him through the garden and he gingerly stepped his way onto the porch, knocking smartly on the door. A man about few years older than him opened the door and he blinked at Baekhyun, wearing a bathrobe. He exclaimed when he saw the tuft of hazel hair and pulled him into a squeezing hug, choking the smaller male in the process.

“Ah! I was going to pick you up myself—I thought something happened, you’re really late home, you know.”  
“Sorry Baekbeom.” Baekhyun wheezed in his clutch, wiggling free from his grip. Baekbeom looked up at me and slapped me in the shoulder.

“Hey, Jongdae! God, you look taller than the last time I saw you.”  
“I’m—I’m not Jongdae.” I laughed nervously, offering a hand. “Park Chanyeol. Pleased to meet you.”

“Oh, well, Mr. Park. Pleasure’s all mine.” Baekbeom shook my hand warmly. “It’s nice to see Baekkie socialise sometimes, you know—dating boys—“  
“He’s _not_ my boyfriend.” Baekhyun hissed, blushing.  
“—I was starting to worry, you know, what if he dies a virgin? Can’t let that happen to my little bro—“  
" _Baekbeom_.”  
“Right, I’ll leave you two alone. Be quick about it.” He laughed, before patting Baekhyun’s shoulder reassuringly and walking off into the hallway.

“So—umm…” Baekhyun licked his lips, wringing his hands. He smiled. “Same time tomorrow?”  
“Sure.” I smiled and smiled even though he can’t see it. He reached out and I shook his pinkie-less hand, his eyes travelling around everywhere and nowhere, as if searching for my face—even though he’ll never be able to see it, forever.

So we just stood there, for five seconds straight, before his fingers slipped away from mine and I stood there in front of his porch, late for home—again.

* * *

It became a routine—weekdays, I’d listen to him perform on that little platformer, stay beyond closing time and take him home. Weekends, I was inevitably busy arranging lessons and marking books, but I’d always come every other day. Though he was a little timid and shy and tended to jump whenever I touched him, he warmed up to me pretty easily, and pretty soon enough our friendship grew so that we’d embrace each other every time we say our goodbyes—Baekbeom was giving me snarky smirks as I did it, but he never said anything else.

Or maybe it was _friendship-slash-we-kinda-love-each-other-but-we’re-shy-about-it_ friendship.

After the café closes, I’d shift from sitting to the tables to sitting beside him in that piano stool, watching him flawlessly play each and every note, his body swaying accordingly to the rhythm. I’d close my eyes and let my worries go, sighing.

“Have you even noticed I’ve been repeating the exact same song for hours already?” Baekhyun chuckles, addressing me, even though his eyes and head didn’t exactly align with mine. I only shrugged and rocked back and forth in that stool.

“I know.” I said—then in a tiny whisper, “But I don’t mind if you’re doing it—it sounds beautiful every time I hear it.”  
“Are you two flirting?” Jongdae’s voice travels through and he whacked my neck with a mop. I scowled as Baekhyun laughs warmly, but he discreetly reached down to trace my elbow with his fingers and twine my hand with his.

I never really thought about love. I don’t even know what it feels like—maybe I know, now. The urge to always hold his hand and hold him close—and to kiss the top of his head, maybe his lips—I don’t know. We both knew that we were in love with each other—he regarded me as someone special. But we haven’t said anything to each other yet—maybe we weren’t comfortable enough. Or maybe we were relying on fate to do it.

Maybe I had to make the first move.

Sometimes I just look at him as he talks—gesturing with his hands, sheepishly laughing at my jokes. The way his eyes genuinely twinkled even though they’d always see nothing but eternal dark, shyly smiling, doing his little habits. The way his eyes swivel around and his head turning at your voice, though he misses your face a few inches and stared at the wrong direction—the way he just _lives_ life, even though he is ~~blessed~~ cursed with the eternal darkness.

We were at the café one day—just the two of us, with the lights dim and the day waning midnight, and Jongdae somewhere in the staff-only room cleaning whatever he had to clean. Baekhyun played in his piano—and I watched him, as always, when I saw his lips softly part, and his voice seeped into the melody—

 _if only, my sweetheart, I could see your face,_  
I’d photograph it and frame it and I’d look at it every single day  
but I can only trace my fingers on your cheeks;  
so I’ll just count the memories and see you in my dreams

I just watched him as he sang, holding my breath. His blind eyes looked dreamy and trances, faraway—as if the song was solely his soul. He sighed as he pressed the final note, before he lifted his fingers off the keys and rested his hands on his lap, licking his lips.

“I wrote it myself.” He smiled sadly, scratching his pinkie stub.  
“It sounds very nice.” I said—and the corners of his lips stretched up to his eyes. We just sat in silence then, hands on our laps, before Baekhyun turned around to face me—this time, his eyes catching mine.

“Would you mind if I touch your face, Chanyeol?” he asked softly. I jumped at the odd request.

“It—It sounds weird, but…”  
“No—No, go ahead.” I said gingerly.

Baekhyun let out a soft breath and smiled, before he reached out his fingers carefully—and his digits gently met my chin. He traced my jaw with his fingers, outlining my whole face with his fingertips. He did it very slowly, as if taking his time to make in image in his head of how I looked like—he stroked my brows with his thumb, gently lowering them to brush my eyelids and outlining my nose with the tip of his finger. He brushed his fingers against my cheeks and he lined my lips with his index, going over back to feel my ears—

Then there was just one moment where his hand rested on both sides of my face, and he looked blindly into my eyes—his eyes, his eyes are beautiful…

I don’t know. He was parting and pressing his lips, as if he wanted to say something—but he continued to hold my face. His breath tickled my cheeks and my face felt warm—everything looked soft, and Baekhyun’s features looked calm. Maybe I did—Maybe I did lean it, slightly, just to press our foreheads together; but our lips grazed and we caught on each other’s breath—and suddenly I just leaned further in more than I intended to—and I kissed him.

Was he surprised? Maybe he was. But he didn’t push me away. Instead, his hands slid down my jacket and he wrapped his arms around my neck, pressing his soft lips against mine—and my hands just somehow snaked around his petite figure and we just kissed each other softly, sitting on that piano stool, his fingers tangling in my hair, gently moving our mouths.

If Jongdae hadn’t stepped in on us and screamed and dropped a couple of mugs, we probably would’ve stayed like that forever. But God granted us a third-wheeler, though we slowly pulled apart, Baekhyun’s arms still wrapped around my neck though his head perked up at the noise, and I whipped my head around to see shattered mugs and Jongdae stuck frozen in shock, his jaw hanging open as if he just walked in on a crime scene.

“I—“ he choked out, and Baekhyun’s face resembled a cherry. But Jongdae broke into this huge-ass smile and he screamed the roof down, dancing over the shattered mugs.

“I _KNEW_ IT! I PRACTICALLY PREDICTED THE FUTURE! I WALKED IN ON YOU TWO _MAKING OUT_!”

“We—We were _not_!” Baekhyun said hotly, burying his red face in the crook of my neck.

“God you two were _so_ into it, I wish I took a picture—so when’s the wedding, eh? Have you two moved into a house? Hmm? HMM? Who’s bottom?! No don’t tell me about it, send me an invitation as your best man! Holy god, I’m gonna clean up this thing! I will do fifty laps around the café!” Jongdae hollered, screaming as he ran again to fetch a broom and duster.

“Well—at least your friend’s supportive.” I grinned. Baekhyun groaned from my lapels, though his cheeks were still hot—nevertheless, he smiled.

We walked home that day—closer than ever, arm in arm, Baekhyun resting his head on my shoulder as we walked. As always—we stopped on the porch and we embraced each other, though this time, the feeling was different. He wrapped his arms around me once more and we kissed again—slowly, gently, savouring the taste of each other’s lips. At the corner of my eye, I saw Baekbeom peek through the curtains and he smiled like a snake—though when we pulled apart and he opened the door, he acted like he saw nothing.

“Good day, little brother?”  
“It’s—it’s been a _fairly_ good day, yes.” He stammered, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Though before he could go any redder, he gave me one last hug and squeaked a ‘goodbye!’ before dashing off into the hallway, running blindly.

Baekbeom caught my eye, and he winked.

“You take good care of Baekkie, Park.” He punched my shoulder lightly and he smiled, before he shut the door and I stood on that porch again—though my smile was wider this time.

* * *

We’re a few months into our relationship, though I had such a busy schedule and the only way to see him was just café visits. But! It was time for a good damn paid leave, and I was free as a bird for one whole week. Without anything arranged, I dressed up casually and took the bus into the Byun household, rapping smartly on the door with my knuckles. Baekbeom opened it—though it seemed like I’ve interrupted him in mid-shower, his hair full of shampoo foam and his body dripping with water, a towel around his waist.

“Damn, if it wasn’t you, I would’ve punched you in the face.” Baekbeom snorted. “Come in, then. I’m gonna be a while in the shower—Baekhyun’s just practising his piano.”

The Byuns’ household looked very simple, but very welcoming. There wasn’t much ornaments nor were there accessories, and the furniture were all placed against the wall so that Baekhyun could easily navigate through around the house without the help of his brother. Every corner was cushioned and rounded and glass objects were very strictly limited to windows and mugs, and everything was in its place—even the dust seemed to have its own space. There were soft tinkling sounds coming from one particular room and I carefully stepped through the hallway, peeking my head in through the door.

Sure enough—my sweetheart had his hands flying everywhere over the keys, sounding more impressive as the room echoed. Only one single piano was contained in such a large space and Baekhyun’s hands went to search for the places of the keys, pressing them and skittering over to the next. I stepped in quietly as so not to disturb him, tiptoeing carefully behind him and watching him as he played—it seemed forever until he was finished, pressing in the last keys before he put his hands on his lap and sighed.

“That was beautiful.”

He jumped at my voice, squeaking and clutching his chest with one hand, and I laughed as I wrapped my arms around him. He sighed in relief and held my arms, resting his head back into my chest.

“Chanyeol! You might as well make me go deaf as well as blind!” he gasped, but he smiled toothily even though he couldn’t see me. I smiled and kissed the top of his head.

“Sorry baby. I didn’t want to interrupt you, so I waited.” I said—though his cheeks warmed up at the fairly new nickname. Nevertheless, the turned around to face me and kissed my cheek—or at least, he tried to.

“That was my nose.”  
“Well—you know I love you anyways.” He grumbled. I laughed and kissed every inch of his face before I sat down next to him.

“I thought you were supposed to be in work today—are you not?” Baekhyun said whilst he fingered the keys, pressing one after the other to make sure his hand was in the correct position.

“Nah, this is my holiday. I thought I’d come to see you—it’s preferable than teaching zombies all the time.”  
“You’re so sweet—I can get used to this.” Baekhyun giggled, and he rested his head on my chest and breathed in my scent. I smiled fondly and I ruffled his hair, embracing him.

“Hey lovebirds—what do you fancy for lunch?” Baekbeom peeked his head around the door, now clothed with his hair sticking onto his face.

“I’d fancy Chanyeol for lunch.” Baekhyun popped up from chest, and I choked and chortled at the same time—my shoulders shaking. Baekbeom gave me one very incredulous look and frowned at us both, gritting his teeth.

“Dating my brother is one thing—but if you try and taint his innocent mind, I _will_ punch you in the face.” Baekbeom growled, shaking his fist at me. I don’t know if he was joking or really threatening me, but Baekhyun squeaked out something that sounded like ‘dumplings!’ before Baekbeom was even satisfied and left the room. Baekhyun laughed and he twirled a lock of my hair in his finger, smiling.

“Do you—really?” I dared to ask him. He went cherry-red again.  
“Shut—Shut up, I was just trying to make myself look like a grown-up instead of baby Baekkie.” He mumbled, sucking the tip of his finger.

Though he was right—he really looked like a baby.

Maybe we forgot about lunch—we just cuddled into each other’s arms on Baekhyun’s bed and listened to some audiobooks. Baekhyun had a lot of those—as well as Braille music scores. His bedroom was awfully simple and everything was in its place, too. We just laid there, Baekhyun snuggling comfortably into my chest and myself stroking his hair and kissing him, only getting up to change CDs and listen to something else. I just watched Baekhyun’s eyes as they swivel around in his sockets.

“Why’d you do that for?”  
“Hm?”  
“That eye-movement thing.”  
“Would you rather I’d stop?”  
“No—it’s just… well, why do you do it? I mean, you have… you have nothing to see, you know.”

Baekhyun sighs into my chest, blinking. His eyes rapidly move to one place to another and he shrugs.

“I don’t know.” He says. “Maybe—maybe it’s just wishful thinking that I can maybe see just a glimpse of something in my blind eyes—even though it’s a tiny thing. And I keep chasing it.” He shrugged again. “I dunno, Chanyeol—people that are blind from birth don’t know what anything looks like. I don’t even know what colours are—or what they look like. Baekbeom can describe how something looks or feels—but you can’t describe _colour_ , can you? I don’t even know what’s black, even though Baekbeom says I see it every day since I was born.”

Hearing this, I just felt a surge of protectiveness over him. I tightened my embrace around his small frame like I would never let go of him.

“Do you—“ I paused. “Do you maybe ever wish that you weren’t born blind?”

Baekhyun thought about this rather carefully, his brows furrowing before they relaxed. He just smiles and snuggles into my closer.

“Never did.” He spoke into the crook of my neck. “Well—never did, until I met you.”

Alright, maybe my heart swelled. Maybe I smiled like an idiot—but that’s just it, isn’t it? He truly loves me—so badly that even though he’s blind, he’d give up his limbs just to see my face for one single second.

* * *

“But I’m kinda nervous about this. Maybe I’ll cut back.” I whispered, but Baekhyun nudges my arm and hisses.

“You can’t go back now—and anyways, you did beautiful on practice. I’m sure you’ll ace this one too.” Baekhyun smiles, his eyes missing a few inches from my face—though he did aim right and kiss me on my lips. We waited for the last band to finish and the audience clapped, before the enthusiastic Jongdae came on stage to announce us.

“And that was _Pencils and Crayons_ , performing ‘ _Midnight Lamp_!’ Beautiful, eh? But you haven’t reached climax yet! Here is yet the most beautiful pair ever—Byun Baekhyun and Park Chanyeol, everybody!”

There was a series of enthusiastic claps, and both of us stepped up neatly on the stage, hand in hand, bowing to the crowd before Baekhyun flashed me a smile. He sat down on his stool whilst I sat on another with my guitar, testing out a few chords before I counted both of us in—and I struck the strings and Baekhyun pressed the keys, sounding beautifully brilliant. It was our one-year anniversary of dating and Baekhyun’s idea of celebrating was to have both of us perform in that café—of course I was mortified, but hey, anything to make him happy; and I had him by my side.

We started off to the slow intro, kicking in into the song, waiting for a few beats in. Then Baekhyun smiles and he leaned his head towards the mike—and he sang loud and clear like a pleasant dawn bird;

 _good morning darling—have you slept well?_  
I’d tell you that I’ve just dreamt of you, but it seems silly now  
I’d tell you that I love you but you already know that;  
even though I can’t see you and I can only hold your hand,  
let’s wish together we have a good day ahead of us

I smiled as he sang, playing comfortably on my guitar. He flashes me another smile—though a few inches off to the left, he reassured me that I’ll do fine. I took a deep breath and waited for a few beats—before I sang my part;

 _good afternoon my love, you look much more beautiful than this morning_  
I’d tell you you’re the sun to my sky, but you’d never believe me  
I’d say that you look as fine as the angels, but that’s something obvious  
although you can’t see me and you can only reach out for me,  
I would always be by your side, I’ll be the pilot of our plane

Thank god my voice didn’t crack up—but maybe that was because I was singing those lyrics personally to him. His cheeks had a tinge of pink even though we sang it endlessly throughout the week. I changed chords and Baekhyun went an octave higher—and suddenly we just caught each other’s eyes and we sang together in fitting harmony, completing each other’s voice;

 _good evening my sweetheart, how was your day?_  
I’d tell you how was mine, but I’m sorry that yours is much more interesting  
your voice is sweeter than any other birdsong and I endear to hear every word  
albeit our worlds are either in colour or in black, your lips would still taste very sweet  
though our fingers become nine and not ten, my love for you would always be the same

We then played our instrumental parts, our faces stuck in idiotic, lovestruck smiles. We repeated the verses again—but we slowed down at the last verse, only a few strums of the guitar and few simple piano keys playing before we held our last note—and we finished with Baekhyun’s beautiful piano harmony.

You seriously could hear Jongdae’s bawling sobs, snorting into his handkerchief and clapping so enthusiastically above others, overcome with emotion—I don’t know what the hell that guy does sometimes. But everyone in the café was standing up—and even passer-byes outside the café peeked in just to see our performance, and they were clapping madly. We ourselves—Baekhyun and I—were overcome with emotion, Baekhyun completely overwhelmed as he hiccupped with happy tears, fanning himself.

“We did beautiful, we did beautiful.” I kind of sobbed happily, weeping into his neck.  
“But you wrote the song—all I did was just play some ruddy chords—“ Baekhyun aggressively wiped his eyes, the applause still roaring. But I pulled him close.

“Shut up—we both did well.” I sniffed, and I kissed his face in front of everyone.

Everyone was roaring and squealing at our sudden show of affection, clapping even louder, Jongdae falling into more hysterical sobs and crying into Baekbeom’s arms—but they seemed quiet. All I was aware of was my lips on Baekhyun’s, and we kissed each other sweetly—before we pulled back and the clapping was still on.

“Better exit the stage before Jongdae floods the whole café.” I grinned, and Baekhyun laughed—we snuck through and went through the crowd and exited the café, and out into the cool night air.

The dark blue skies.

“It wasn’t even singing—it was us both having a conversation and throwing each other corny compliments in a sing-song voice.” Baekhyun laughs, nuzzling his head into my neck as we walked home. To his home, anyways. I just smiled as we went through the porch, opening the door for him, embracing each other into another kiss.

I don’t know—but this one felt longer. It was as if we were kissing for a long, long time—not sure if the neighbour was gawping at us, but we could care less. But when I turned to leave, Baekhyun grabbed my back.

“No—don’t go. Not yet.” He whispered. “ _Stay_. Please.”

So I did—I stayed. We went to his bedroom and sat down on his bed—but he reached out and gingerly touched my elbow, trailing his fingers down my sleeves and touching my own digits, and he kept twiddling with my hand and brushing my palm with his fingertips. Perhaps—was he agitated? I don’t know. But he was leaning in closer to me, and he kept doing it—I don’t know. I just sort of turned around and kissed him.

We always did it softly, gently. But I don’t know what the hell came over both of us—we just started to kiss each other so fiercely that we both toppled back into the bed, completely wrapped in each other’s arms. I was kissing him so hard that his head was sinking right down into the pillow, but he was kissing me back with equal force. I don’t know--somehow my mouth just moved lower down to his neck and biting right at the crook, and he was letting out soft pants. Maybe we were growing wild—but he didn’t complain as my hands glided under his shirt and roamed over there for some time.

Could I take this further? Maybe. I gently slipped my fingers and dipped them down under his pants—then I felt his body stiffen up.

“Don’t wanna?” I whispered. But he shook his head and whispered in a husky voice—  
“No. Do it, Chanyeol. Please.” He said breathlessly—and he moaned as my hand slipped down under his boxers.

So Baekbeom punched me in the face the next morning. But Baekhyun seemed pretty happy with his tender neck and sore ass.

* * *

“—No, the bed is on the left corner!”  
“Sure? I thought it was the right—“  
“Left!”

Three years in, and we moved into our own apartment. Obviously Baekhyun can’t do much about unpacking and manoeuvring things so I was the pilot of the house—but I wanted the place to be as similar as Baekhyun’s house so he doesn’t have to take months to get used to things placed here and there. I moved the bed about three times now and I probably lost about a quarter of my weight—but I was pretty keen on it.

“Ah, it’s really so much bother. I’ll be fine, honest.” Baekhyun sighed—but I insisted. After the bedroom was done, I had to place everything else whilst Baekhyun just stood there and hear me attack the pots and pans in the kitchen. The day ended and I still had half the stuff to pack—but we snuggled up on the couch at dinnertime and he sat on my lap, kissing my face.

“Why’re you kissing me for, pup?”  
“Mmm, you deserve it, baby. I didn’t even _do_ anything.” He whispers in my ear. He continuously pecks at my lips and I curled the corners of my mouth into a smile, kissing him back.

“Really—don’t make us both sleep late, I have work tomorrow, Baekkie. Do you want me to drop you off at Baekbeom’s?”  
“Nah, I’ll probably just stick around the café with Chen. Baekbeom got a girlfriend recently—he’s honestly so sloppy about it.”  
“What about you? You’re sloppy when it comes to me.”

He swatted my face—though he misses, as always. He sinks back at rests his weight on my chest—his plump ass was definitely shapely against my crotch, but I shook my head at the thought—we only just done it yesterday.

“Why don’t you play on the guitar, hm?”  
“Oh, left it back at Baekbeom’s with the other stuff that we’ll pick up another time. I like your piano better anyways.”  
“My ruddy piano!” he snuffs, but he smiled gingerly. “If I hadn’t had my sodding piano skills, I probably would’ve never met you at all.”  
“Even if you don’t play piano, I’d still love you.”  
“Really?”  
“Really.”

He rests his head back to my shoulder and he smiles this big smile.

“Aren’t you _really_ the sun to my sky?” he whispers, and he sighs happily. “C’mon, let’s get to that café. I want to see Jongdae’s ugly face.”  
“You mean— _hear_ , his voice.”  
“Whatever. You know what I mean.

* * *

Four years in—hey, I’m nearing my thirties, but that doesn’t stop me from running. Okay, I had this student badgering me about extended work, and I’m really late on my dinner date—but Baekhyun was standing there with his walking-stick, beautiful as ever, with Jongdae next to him. I was kind of nervous, alright, but I just about made it ten minutes late, and I skidded into a halt, panting madly.

“Hi—Hey—hahh, sorry I’m late—thanks Jongdae, for waiting—“  
“No problem. But if you were another minute late, I probably would’ve sauntered off and left your weeny little boyfriend.”  
“Hey, hey! Care for the disabled, will you?” Baekhyun swung his stick across Jongdae’s leg and he hysterically screamed—guy was in his mid-twenties, but he was as shit as ever, hopping off with one leg and yowling into the moon or something. Baekhyun and I laughed and we clasped our hands, dear sweetheart tiptoeing to kiss my cheek.

“Hey, handsome.”  
“But you don’t know that—for all you know I can be wearing dog shit right now, but you’ll still call me handsome.” I smirked. He snorts.  
“Touché. Now let’s go—I’m starving.”

We haven’t spent time with each other for a while—Baekhyun was finally admitted into a private music school and my workload was staggering, but we managed to free up our schedules for a get-together. And it’s been four years of our undying love—hey, I prepared something special, but I was really nervous.

We sat ourselves down, and the waiter gave both of us menus—though obviously we chortled, since Baekhyun’s can’t even see one single speck of that goddamned menu, and his eyes looked so natural he didn’t even look like he was blind. And when the waiter came to get out orders, Baekhyun was snorting up.

“I-I’ll just have whatever he’s having.” Baekhyun laughs. The waiter didn’t even suspect a thing.

Then our food came, and the waiter put it in front of us.

“Well, it _looks_ nice.”  Baekhyun smiles brightly—bright as sunshine, and I doubled up in laughter because it was so hilarious as the waiter tried to figure out what we were laughing about. But I fed Baekhyun whilst I ate the food myself, his mouth opening like a bird beak every time I spooned the food into his mouth.

“I’m paying, right?”  
“Nah—I pay.” I said, reaching for my wallet. Baekhyun obviously can’t do anything about it—he can’t read bills.  
“Fine—you pay. But I’ll pay the bills next month.”  
“Nope.”  
“Chanyeooool…” he whines, but I smirked. The night wanes on and we had our second dessert—and I shifted to sit next to Baekhyun since it was easier to feed him that way. We had our arms round each other and he clumsily opens his mouth and dips his head to the spoon—though a bit too far away, as the cream stayed on his nose. Obviously, as any gentleman would—I licked it off his nose.

“Disgusting.” Baekhyun mumbles, but we laughed all the same—he’d love me whether I do it or not, anyways. I was growing really, really nervous—Baekhyun felt me tense up beside him, but he didn’t say anything. So through our final glass of ice-cream I decided to do it—it’s now or never.

“Baekhyun?”  
“Mhhm?”  
“Hold your hand out for me, babe.”

He licked the dessert of his lips before he stuck out his hand—I smiled as I saw the pinkie stump, and pulled it out of my pocket, holding it out. It was cool, smooth—and I slowly slipped it onto his finger. Baekhyun gasps and his face twists into surprise.

“Chanyeol—is that… Is that?”  
“Normally I would’ve proposed on my knee—but obviously in our case, we can’t.” I smiled, though my heart was hammering on my chest. I took a deep breath—

“Baekhyun, will you marry me?”

I never saw Baekhyun smile so wide. He was tethering on the edge, squealing even though he was in a public place—he grabbed the sides of my face and kissed me hard, tears specking his cheeks.

“Yes—yes, yes, yes, a million times yes!” he sobbed into my shirt. People were staring and he was crying tears and snot into my suit, but I couldn’t care less. The ring slipped on perfectly on his finger and he had never looked so happier, kissing me all over my face blindly and sobbing into my neck, overwhelmed with happiness.

“Have I proposed to the right man? Baekhyun doesn’t hysterically cry like Jongdae.” I joked—and we both laughed, but Baekhyun couldn’t stop crying. Neither did he stop on the ride home, nor did he stop when we had our celebratory sex, nor did he stop when we settled to sleep. But he was crying for a good reason—those tears were purely out of happiness.

* * *

“You look smart.” Baekbeom smiles as he punches my shoulder. “Even though I’m still reluctant to let little Baekkie finally go—I think he chose the right man. If he had his eyes properly screwed on when he was born—he would’ve probably be dazzled when he sees you, Chanyeol—well, _little brother_.”

“Am I your little brother, really now?” I snorted as I brushed off my tuxedo. But my face clouded with worry. “But Baekbeom—what if I suddenly change my mind? Ah, maybe this is a really bad idea after all—“

“You won’t, trust me.” Baekbeom kisses his girlfriend and winks at me. “Once you’re in for that loophole of love, you’ll never be able to get out. And if you upset my brother in any way, Chanyeol, remember—“

“You’ll sock me over the head with your fist—I remember.” I laughed, straightening my bow before I exited the room. Next door, all I heard was Jongdae hysterically sobbing of how lucky Baekhyun was and some speech about advancing into the future—weird git, but I smiled all the same. I strode out into the room where we were to be wed, standing on the platform—it was the café where we met, hey! The instruments were cleared, though, so the wedding could be set.

The seats slowly filled in—most of them were Baekhyun’s friends and family. I had my parents over and I was keen to hide from them, since mother was forever yapping on how fast time flew and I escalated from a muddy boy and then I was suddenly getting married—I even invited a couple of my students, and my former roommate (who still looks pissed for five years, but at least he congratulated me). The band was playing for the ceremony to start—I never expected this as my happily-ever-after. I thought I was just going to die of lecturing workload—but if I did, at least it would be in the arms of the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.

It’s starting—it really is! I was getting really nervous a fidgety and I was rocking in my dress shoes—but the band started and the music played, and it begins—I craned my head around.

Beautiful Byun Baekhyun, striding on the red carpet with Jongdae still bursting into tears next to him—who’s idea is it to set the bloody bastard as our best man? But—But he looked beautiful, guided forwards toward the platform by his brother, his eyes excitedly swivelling around. He was dressed in a white suit—I was dressed in a black robin-tail, and he was smartly done-up with a cravat and frilly shirt. We couldn’t have a veil, obviously—so white roses studded his beautiful hazel hair, and his chocolate eyes stood out strongly from his white outfit. Baekbeom carefully manoeuvered him onto the platform and I clasped his hands—Baekhyun was breathless with excitement.

“I can’t believe we’re finally getting married.” He squeaks excitedly—and I smiled at him. We just stared into each other’s eyes—even though Baekhyun had nothing to see and his eyes travelled around its sockets. But we uttered our promises and slipped the rings into our fingers—and we held each other’s hand, our silver, metal promises clinking against each other in silent greeting—and we both smiled.

“Park Chanyeol—do you promise to love and cherish Byun Baekhyun, in health and sickness, in riches and poor, until death do you part?”

“I do.” I’ve been waiting for a long time to say those two words—I was nervous, though—would my Baekhyun say the same?

“Byun Baekhyun—do you promise to love and cherish Park Chanyeol, in health and sickness, in riches and poor, until death do you part?”

Baekhyun was clasping my hands tightly, and tears were swimming in his eyes. But why say these promises? I’d always love and cherish him—even after death.

“I do.” Baekhyun said—loud and clear, the tears really pooling—but it only magnified the beauty of his pretty brown eyes.

“With the power infested in me—I shall now announce you a happily wed couple, you may kiss your partner!” the priest laughs—though he didn’t have to announce it, does he? I was already doing a French dip with my eternal lover—his body hanging onto mine whilst I held his waist, his arms wrapped around mine—and I tucked a strand behind his ear and kissed his soft lips.

The jazz band started up and everyone clapped and cheered—except Jongdae, maybe, he was crumpled on the floor drowning in his own tears and screaming of how beautiful we were.

But he was right. Baekhyun is beautiful—even if he’s blind and he’s only got nine fingers in his hands—and his smile would always be imprinted in my mind.

He’s still beautiful now—even if he’s inside a coffin case under a tombstone. I’m still loving him every day—even if I’ve got a wife now and my own two children, and I’ve moved on. I’m still cherishing the day we’ve met, even if he’s now just a skeleton and a name on a stone. I still remember his chocolate eyes and his shy smile and his pretty face—even if it’s just a distant memory now.

“And I’m sure he still loves you now, even from beyond the grave.” My wife said, smiling as he puts the flowers on the grave bed—there was no hint of jealousy in her voice, even if she knows for a fact I loved and yearned for Byun Baekhyun more than herself.

“He must be very pretty if daddy talks about him a lot.” My son said.  
“Not prettier than me!” –his twin sibling said, pouting full-force, and all of us chorused in laughter, even though I was crying and the wound was still raw—even though it’s been five years since he pushed me away and saved me from death—but he traded his life for mine.

It was raining hard—we were getting home, when a car suddenly swerved out of nowhere. That ruddy car! But he beeped the horn so hard—Baekhyun was alarmed. He knew we were crossing the street—and his first instinct was to push me away; but it was too late to save himself. He couldn’t run—and the beams of light thundered closer and lit his eyes up to orange—

“Don’t cry, daddy. I don’t think Baekhyun likes to see you sad.” My daughter piped up, brushing the tears from my face—I smiled.

The car struck him. His beautiful, petite body went flying—I was screaming. I was really screaming. The blood mixed in with the rainwater and it was just—just such a horrible scene. I ran to his body—I never ran so fast. I instantly skidded down on my knees and cradled his head in my arms—was his neck broken? It wasn’t—but the damage was done. He was coughing, spluttering blood against my chest—I was screaming, screaming for help—but his fingers touched my elbow and trailed down to my hand—and we twined our fingers, our silver rings clinking, my finger missing the stump of his pinkie.

“I can—“ he choked. He was crying, he was in pain—but he was smiling through his tears. He held his hand up to touch my face.

“I can—I can see you, Chanyeol—“ he smiled, and the smile reached his eyes—he traced my jaw and stroked my brow—outlined my nose and touched my lips, like he did  years ago.

“I can see… I can see you, Chanyeol—you’re… you’re…”

His body stiffened—I could feel it. His fingers fell from my face—it trailed down my cheek before it slumped on his chest, his head dipping in towards my torso—but not before he looked—he really looked properly into my eyes, and he uttered the word ever-so softly…

“You’re… beautiful…”

. . .

“C’mon, it’s going home. We’re gonna visit uncle Baekbeom too, right?”

“Uncle Baekbeom!” the twins squealed, and they jumped and down in excitement. I wiped my tears away and I smiled—kissing the tombstone before we walked down the path, back into the car.

I was a bit blubbery whilst I steered, but I made it safely, and it was nearing night. The house still looked the same—beautiful, with orchids and flowers. The interior still looked the same, too—though Baekhyun’s room was left completely untouched.

Baekbeom greeted us at the door, immediately jumped by the twins. He laughed as he swung them around in his arms, the kids laughing, greeting my wife—but when he saw my face, he simply smiled sadly and punched my shoulder.

“Hey, brother.”  
“Hey.”

We got inside—Jongdae was there, a bit sniffy, but fine otherwise. We sang happy birthday to Baekhyun—obviously the kids were enthusiastic about the cake. Though halfway through dinner, Baekbeom pulled me from the room and we stood there in the hallway—and he handed me a CD.

“I thought it was about time that I—I moved on.” Baekbeom sniffs. “I tidied his room yesterday—though I found this lying under the bed. He obviously never had the chance to give it to you.”

On the case was Braille writing—but after a few easy researches, the clumsy-written dots were enough to resemble—“ _For PCY_ ”. So I took Baekhyun’s old player that night and I sat in the garden on the orchids, tuning the volume so it wasn’t blasting off the neighbours’ roof—but instead some sort of audio or something, a piano started to twinkle, and the familiar voice started to sing—and I smiled fondly.

The skies were dark blue that night.

 _if only, my sweetheart, I could see your face,_  
I’d photograph it and frame it and I’d look at it every single day  
but I can only trace my fingers on your cheeks;  
so I’ll just count the memories and see you in my dreams


End file.
